


Touchy-Feely Stuff

by Einhorn



Series: A Little Bit Off The Mark [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Autism Spectrum, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Minor Angst, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4185231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Einhorn/pseuds/Einhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sera was never one for touchy-feely stuff. Not one for hugging, for lying together in a bed with nothing to do except relax and sleep. Never had the chance, not with her life. It’s nice that she gets that with Amalthea, though, even if the weight of the world is hanging over their heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touchy-Feely Stuff

Sera stares at the vaguely glowing wooden ball sitting on the bedspread in front of her. She’s been doing so for at least ten minutes now, hands hovering within an inch of touching before bringing them back again.

She bites her lip when her fingertips brush lightly against the surface. She wants to touch it, wants to touch it so bad. Wants to feel the grains of the wood on her palm. But the  magic , that soft glow upon it. 

“We can stop here, if you want,” Amalthea, her dearest Inquisitor, her Honey Tongue, puts a hand on Sera’s shoulder, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Sera shakes her head vigorously. “No,” her voice wavers a tiny bit, but holds, “want to do this while I’m stable. Don’t know when I’ll be again. Fucking head needs to stop being so fucking stupid.” 

Amalthea sighs a bit. “I’m sorry you’re still having issues.”

Sera blows a bit of hair from her face. “So am I,” she grumbles, “it’s my brain.” The elf’s nimble fingers move to touch the ball again, and this time they make contact. Her hand wraps around it hesitantly, lifting it up off the bed for a second, before dropping it again quickly.

“Good,” Amalthea praises, “very good. You’re getting better at this.”

They do this sometimes, when both of them are feeling stable enough and there’s time. Amalthea enchants various objects with unique textures with some sort of spell, and Sera touches them. Helps get her used to magic again, after that Fade shit. Helps fulfill her strange need to touch, well….everything. Has to feel the textures, has to feel them on her palm. Rubs the enchanted object on her cheek, if she’s feeling brave enough. 

They’d gone through the basics first. Items enchanted to be hot, items enchanted to be cold, items that changed colors with a wave of Amalthea’s palm. They moved on to objects that floated, objects that glowed, objects that would gradually grow heavier or lighter as she held them. This particular orb was a combination of both glow and heat--something they’d not tried yet before, that being combinations.

The Fade fucked her up, it did. Ruined her. Shook her badly, didn’t want to go near any sort of mage for days. Hid from Amalthea for two, refused to touch her for three more. Just sat in her little tavern room feeling sorry for herself. Entertained thoughts of sticking her head in boiling water or taking a knife to her legs. Kicked herself mentally in the head for even considering.

It was Sera, actually, who’d asked Amalthea for help. Realized that if she was continuing with this Inquisition thing she’d have to get used to magic again at some point, right? Not like it, of course. Just get used to it. 

She reaches out for the ball again, this time with more confidence. Grabs it without hesitation, holds it in her palm. Sera rolls it between her fingers, feeling the texture of the wood. It’s polished smooth and feels warm in her hands. 

She glances up at Amalthea. There’s nothing but encouragement in the woman’s eyes. Shakily, Sera brings the wooden ball up to her cheek. Shuts her eyes, shudders at the touch. The warmth of the wood feels nice upon her skin and she finds herself relaxing a bit.

This shit’s good for her, too. The Inquisitor. Helps her cool her head and keep her calm, helps her hold the demons and other bad head things away. Both of them have issues, some similar and some completely different, and it’s nice. Working them through together. 

Sera was never one for touchy-feely stuff. Not one for hugging, for lying together in a bed with nothing to do except relax and sleep. Never had the chance, not with her life. It’s nice that she gets that with Amalthea, though, even if the weight of the world is hanging over their heads. 

She puts the ball down. “Can I touch you?” she blurts out. Ducks her head down, wrings her hands. The normal nervous routine. Silly to ask, she thinks.

Amalthea chuckles, and Sera has to tell herself that it’s not  at  her, of course, even though it feels like it. “Of course,” the Inquisitor says, like Sera thought she would, but her stupid head kept on telling her otherwise and  whatever .

Put her hands on hers, threats her fingers between hers. Feels the callouses, rough from gripping a staff so hard. Moves her hands up to her wrists, feels the scars there that mirror some of her own. Sera tries not to think about that time she almost died, about how Amalthea spent so long trying to bring her back, and flinches.

Amalthea must’ve felt it, because she smiles that sweet smile again, the one that makes Sera almost melt because of how kind it is. Doesn’t complain when Sera accidentally squeezes her wrists in an attempt to ground herself, stop the dissociation in its tracks before it happens.

Must’ve worked because there’s no weird tunnel-feeling that comes, just a tiny burst of panic and it’s over. She lets go of Amalthea’s wrists and trails her hands up her clothes, the fabric so soft and smooth underneath them. Bites her lip and stiffens when she brushes against a weird feeling patch, relaxes again when her roaming hands touch soft skin. 

Amalthea’s got the softest skin Sera’s ever touched. It’s very pale, way paler than Sera’s, but just as freckled. “Albism” Amalthea had called it, whatever that meant. There’s a purple tattoo around her left eye, and Sera thumbs it gently, feels how the skin’s raised ever so slightly. 

She thinks of the Dalish and their tattoos, and she has to work fast to squash those thoughts down before all her self-hatred comes rising up again.  No , she thinks,  not now, you idiot  and moves instead to trace the curve of her (human) ears and trail her fingers through the soft strands of Amalthea’s white hair.

Amalthea wraps her arms around Sera’s waist and pulls her close, pressing their foreheads together. Sera drops her hands and fists them in the blanket beneath her, shoulders shuddering. Doesn’t let herself cry,  not yet , she’ll save them for a good long breakdown in her room later. 

“I like this,” she mutters, “I think. This...touchy-feely stuff. Both kinds.”

Amalthea’s lips press a soft kiss to Sera’s cheek. “I love you, you know,” she says, voice warm and honey-sweet.

Sera goes quiet. Shuts her eyes, leans real close. “Yeah,” she whispers, “me too.”


End file.
